Brother Never Cry
by Travithian Axile
Summary: Set one year before DMC3. My take on a DMC3 prequel. AU now after Code. Dante's enjoying a nice quiet morning when Baldy and miscellaneous demons suddenly burst into his office seeking trouble...COMPLETE!
1. Illusion of A Calmer Life

Avengement

Summary: An account of how Vergil was led into darkness and how Dante came to set up Devil May Cry. Set one year before DMC 3.

A Word From The Author: Hiya, this is my first serious DMC work, so be nice, okay? I've only played DMC 3, so some of the characterization and canon details might be a little off, in which case corrections will be accepted. I'm making the assumption that Dante was twenty years old in DMC 3.

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim to any of the canon characters i.e. Eva, Sparda, Dante, and Vergil, who all belong to Capcom. I am not making money off this fic.

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Chapter One: Illusion Of A Calmer Life

1999.

It was one of those gray, sullen mornings that hinted at rain, yet refused to yield, giving rise to unbearably stuffy afternoons where the passers-by yanked at their collars and cursed the weather. Fingers of sunlight weakly clawed their way out through the thick mass of clouds simmering ominously in the sky to reach, pale and tentative, through the open window of the Sparda home, a modest two-story brownstone, and it is here our story begins.

The twins were nineteen that year, and happy. High school was nearly behind them, and university beckoned to them with its bright future. So what if demon blood flowed in their veins? This was a world their father had created for them, a world they intended to fully appreciate. This was a sentiment their mother shared. At night the dreams of demon domination still haunted her sometimes, and the normalcy—though, of course, they themselves were far from normal—was something she relished.

Dante and Vergil were in the kitchen. Both were strikingly similar, with the tall stature, white hair and pale blue eyes of their father. But the similarity ended there. The twins, speaking in terms of personality, were different as night and day. Where Vergil was a neat, even obsessive freak, Dante was not. His room looked like a nuclear disaster. Vergil was serious, even formal, while Dante was easy-going and brash. Yet, for all that, they were close. The blood of brothers ran deep.

Dante was leaning back in his chair, his booted feet propped up on the battered surface, slurping at a glass of orange juice. He would have preferred beer, but Eva's stern admonition of 'no alcohol in the house!' had quailed even the younger twin. He was wearing a dark red shirt, open at the neck, and dark trousers, while his brother, seated opposite, was clad in a long-sleeved collared blue shirt and loose-fitting navy blue pants. He was apparently engrossed in a book, but as Dante finished off his drink with an obnoxious burp, he shoved over a few letters to the other side of the table.

"For you," he said, raising a sardonic eyebrow. "When are you ever going to settle on one?"

Dante glanced over, saw the official logos on the envelopes, and grimaced. "Chill, big brother. There's still plenty of time." He could be studious when he wanted to, and he had gotten surprisingly good results. He had yet to pick a university, though. Vergil got the feeling that it wasn't because of indecision so much as something else. His suspicion was confirmed a second later as Dante slammed his feet back down on the floor and assumed his standard thinking expression; chin propped on hands, lower lip chewing.

"You saw that newspaper article yesterday, bro?" he asked suddenly. Vergil nodded; how could he not have noticed? Mysterious murder, page one, victim torn apart in back alley. It all screamed DEMON in block letters. Even after their father had sealed the gate to the demon world, there were still some low-ranking demons hiding around, preying on the weak and unfortunate in a struggle to survive in a newly human dominated world.

"They're like pests," Dante continued restlessly. "They breed like houseflies. If someone doesn't do something about the demon situation, it's going to be a lot worse, and those humans out there? They'll shove you into a loony bin if you so much as suggest the existence of an ET. They don't believe, Verg, and that's the problem. Perfect for these demons."

"And _you _are going to do something about it?" Vergil inquired, more than a little sarcastic.

Dante cocked an eyebrow. "Sure, why the hell not?" He grinned wildly as Vergil stared at him over the top of his book. "It'll be a lot more fun than studying."

"My brother, the selfless hero." Vergil shook his head. "I don't see why you bother. The humans are pretty much killing themselves off already."

"I'm not arguing with you." Dante said. "But Father would have wanted us to do this."

"Suit yourself," Vergil tossed back. He stood up. "I plan on graduating with honors and a degree. You can go demon hunting all you want."

Dante looked disappointed. "Aw, bro. I was hoping you would want to set up shop with me."

Vergil gave him a level stare, and after a while, Dante laughed and shook his head. "Okay, I guess not. You've gotta do what you wanna do." He unfolded his legs and stretched. "I'm going to chill out at the park. You coming with?"

His brother, one leg already outside the kitchen, poked his face back inside for an instant to say, "No, I'm busy," before disappearing. Dante shrugged, unruffled, and reached for the keys. As he did, his gaze went to the newspaper that still lay discarded on the counter. The first page featured a grainy black and white photo of a dead girl. Not just dead, but torn apart, literally. His normally amused expression, that said that he felt the world was just one huge joke and was dying to laugh at it, faded for a moment to become altogether more serious, somber, a face that would have startled the hell out of his closest friends.

Then, with another shrug, Dante put the glass in the sink, pulled on his windbreaker, draped over the back of his chair, and strode out of the house. He had things to do.

Yet he couldn't get that picture, and a dozen other pictures like it, of the murders that had fired off a panic attack, out of his mind.

He just couldn't.

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Author's Ending Note: Okay, kinda short, I know, but I promise to work harder on the following chapters. Basically setting the scene for the story here. I still haven't decided where Dante and Vergil should be living, or whether I should invent a city. Also, the system of education may be different where I live, so it may not agree with yours, so the twins' ages aren't a mistake or anything. Please review.

Signing off,

T. Axile

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	2. Ripples Through The Deep

Brother Never Cry

Summary: An account of how Vergil was led into darkness and how Dante came to set up Devil May Cry. Set one year before DMC 3.

A Word From The Author: Thanks to everybody who reviewed.

**Morwen (Devils That Cry): **Thanks for the encouragement. My only worry is that I won't be able to update as regularly as could be desired. I don't have much free time.

**Laylah: **Unfortunately you'll be waiting for a while.

**Kireiko: **I'll keep that in mind.

**Rikku142: **Yeah, you're right. In any case I only have DMC3 to base this fic on. I only have a rough idea what DMC1 and 2 are about. And cookies to you for the advice.

**Zeroray: **No, and if some of my ideas are similar to yours, it's not intentional. In any case, one has only to look at Dante's apartment in DMC3 to _know _that he's a lazy ass. I simply assumed Vergil was neat from the way he dressed. And, as the story unfolds, you'll see that, from what I have read from your fic, it'll take a very different path from yours.

**Kalina Ann: **Sure, thanks! Presenting to you…

**Sessol: **Likewise, I'm not sure what to say to you that I have already told previous reviewers. Same, I suppose. Stay tuned and review and I'll write more.

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A Word From The Author: Um, right. Could anybody tell me when Sparda sealed the gate to the demon world? This information does not seem to be in DMC3.

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim to any of the canon characters i.e. Eva, Sparda, Dante, and Vergil, who all belong to Capcom. I am not making money off this fic.

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Chapter Two: Ripples Through The Deep

It had been uncomfortably humid when Dante had first left, but as he headed down the avenue a cold wind began to blow, sweeping his white hair from his eyes with an icy hand. Glad for the windbreaker, he tugged it close and walked faster. He was already slightly overdue for his date with his girlfriend, Hermissa, and she was an absolute stickler for time. If it wasn't for her die-for looks…he smirked.

The park was usually crowded, but today it was unusually deserted save for a tramp curled up on a bench, several children throwing a Frisbee around, and the usual early morning joggers. Dante stepped through the ornate arch that served as the park's entrance and shivered a little as the wind brushed cold fingers over his neck. The prickling sensation made him feel as though he was being watched. Dismissing it, he scanned the area for his girlfriend.

She was there, standing beside the lake and gazing at the lone swan sitting serenely on the gray waters. She was wearing a tank top underneath a black jacket, tight jeans that hugged her slim legs, and a deeply annoyed expression. Dante paused to admire her figure, then sped up and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders. "Hi, babe."

"You're late," she stated without looking, sounding pissed off, but as he started to gently caress her neck with his fingers, she sighed and rested her head against him. She always forgave him.

"But I'm here for you, always," he answered cheerfully. Stopping in his administrations, he sat down behind her, putting his arms around Hermissa so that her head lolled onto his chest, spilling luxurious brown hair over his shoulders. Obligingly she turned her head so he could kiss her. "Forgiven?"

She sulked against his lips. "That's cheating." A moment later, though, her mouth relaxed in a smile. "Oh, fine."

"That's my girl." Dante released her and both of them stood up. Hermissa tossed one last crust of bread to the swan, which snatched it out of the water greedily. She entwined her fingers with his and kissed his cheek. "What time is the movie again?"

"Ten. We've got plenty time of time left for each other." Dante said with a meaningful wink.

Hermissa punched him lightly in the ribs with her free hand. "Idiot. I thought we would walk around the park. I don't know where everyone has gone to, but it's a perfect opportunity to take a private stroll about without some pighead walking in."

'Sure. Why not?" Dante shrugged noncommittally. "At least it kills time."

The couple walked off, and as soon as they were out of sight the tramp on the bench sat up, yawned, and shuffled away in the opposite direction. One of the children failed to catch the Frisbee in time and it whizzed right over his head, landing at the tramp's feet. The boy ran over to save the missile. "I'm sorry, mister!" he called out. As he bent down, he looked up at the tramp's face, shaded by the wide-brimmed hat and half-concealed by the upturned collar of his longcoat. The boy gasped audibly. The man snarled something unintelligible and kicked the Frisbee away before leaving.

The boy's friends caught up with him. "What's it? What'd you see?" They asked eagerly, crowding around him.

He was pale. "His eyes were red…"

"Big deal," said one kid.

The boy shook his head, "No…whatever he was…he wasn't human…"

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Among the humans, they mingled. Those that were humanoid enough to pass for one…from a distance.

And if anyone came closer to investigate…it would be too late for those curious souls anyway.

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Vergil was using the computer. It was ostensibly theirs, his and his brother's, but Dante hogged the computer jealously when he wasn't chatting on the telephone, using the PS-2 or watching TV and watching pizza. With Dante out of the house, Vergil was able to log on and check his email, do some research. His mother had often smilingly complained that he was being too much of a hermit, cooped up in his room all the time, subtly warning Vergil to go and get some friends. Vergil was aware that, though he shared his brother's looks, he did not share his natural charisma. He did not resent it, however, with his typical open-minded philosophy. Well, maybe a little, but it didn't hurt his relationship with his brother. He was able to accept their differences; where he sought control, Dante looked for the unexpected. He knew, with all the certainty of a person ignorant of the greater workings of Fate, that he and his brother would be friends forever.

Eva was in the living room. To say that she was well preserved would be an understatement. She had been born in the Middle Ages, but now her long hair was still a glorious gold, her eyes still alert and vibrant. She had been changed, both genetically and mentally, ever since she had come into contact with the forbidden fire that was Sparda. Mating with him. Bearing his children. She was alive when her family and those she had known were dust. She never regretted her choice; she had two loving sons and the cherished memory of a devoted husband who had given his life for humankind. But sometimes, she felt sadness. Like now, stronger than ever. She sat on the sofa, gazed at the ceiling, and closed her eyes. And thought about how tired she was. How good it would be to rest.

Dante, in the park, thought of nothing more important than his date. His was a flighty, wild soul, rarely serious even in the most solemn of times, and he seldom gave his attention to the more important things in the world. But lately the demon activity was catching his interest, though it would not fully claim his full concentration until much later. He was growing more aware, more so than his brother, that the normalcy could not last forever. That someday both of them would have to embrace their demon heritage, not shun it. Because they could not escape it forever. But for now, he let himself be normal.

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The sky had finally burst, shedding its burden upon the populace, who were needless to say not too happy about it, when Dante and Hermissa emerged hours later from the mall. They had been holding hands and deeply engrossed in an animated discussion over the newly released film, but as the first fat drops fell from the sky Dante cursed, interrupting himself.

"I hate rain," he stated, unsuccessfully brushing his already sodden hair from his eyes. The wet hair simply flopped back into place again.

"Relax," Hermissa teased him. "It doesn't hurt your looks…much."

He smiled at her. "Wait until you see yourself."

She shivered; with a gentlemanly gesture he placed an arm around her and pulled her close, a move that didn't do much for her already soaked clothes. She glanced back. "Wanna go back in?"

Dante started to reply, then his eyes narrowed, zeroing in. Through the rain that obscured his vision like a mist something had moved. Normally this would not have alarmed him, but suddenly his senses were overcome with the rancid stench of—

"Do you hear anything?" he asked softly.

She listened; the rain poured down upon their heads, a constant drumming that erased all sounds from the ears. _Human _ears, that was. Dante was not surprised when Hermissa shook her head, her eyes full of questions. "Does it matter? Let's go back inside, Dante. I'm cold and there's nothing out here."

The sense of foreboding grew stronger. Dante shook with the intensity. Whatever it was, he could not expose Hermissa to it. Filled suddenly with bravado—the kind that usually got foolhardy, would-be heroes killed, he turned to Hermissa. "Look, sweetheart, you do just that. There's something I need to take care of."

She was suspicious. "In the middle of such horrible weather? Dante, what _are _you thinking?"

He gave her a gentle push, evading the question. "I'll see you in the morning."

She went, and he blew out a breath, dislodging the wet strands from his face for only an instant. He acted on impulse, which was always one of his faults. He claimed to want to want to do something about the demons…what kind of demon hunter was he if he didn't catch one whenever he found one?

Demon hunter. He liked that. The romanticism of the new title completely overrode whatever shreds of common sense that had been ringing alarm bells in his mind in the first place. He was overconfident; and it blinded him to the danger. Perhaps the first encounter was good for him in the long run, to help deflate his ego.

What he had seen, down the street, was a vague human outline being dragged into an alley, what he had heard was a faint, weak scream, accompanied by the unmistakable aroma that surrounded demons. Alone and unarmed save for childish confidence, he loped over and went inside, without even bothering to check the area out.

Sparda did it. So could he.

He stared ahead, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. There was no sight nor sound of the human victim. Then he realized…

The darkness was looking back.

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Vergil was half-asleep already, at the terminal, his head pillowed on his arm. Yawning mightily, he shut off the computer and gazed idly outside, wondering how his twin would be able to get home in the storm.

Then his mind, and subsequently grogginess, was shattered by the urgent mind-voice of his brother, tense with fear. Vergil sat up, sleep forgotten. Dante was never afraid. _Never._

_Vergil!_ _You _have _to help me!_

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Author's Ending Note: At least this chapter was longer. Hope you readers are satisfied with it. Basically a pretty lousy attempt at a cliffhanger. Considering we know that Dante is still alive a year later, it's a pretty good guess he'll survive this one. Ah well, I was just trying to show that he wasn't always the suave, experienced demon hunter; he had to be young and naïve once right? Right? Please review and tell me what you think.

Dante (loftily): I've _always _been suave and experienced.

Author: Oh, shut up. Who was asking _you _anyway?

Signing off. (sounds of arguing fade into the distance)

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	3. Tremors

Brother Never Cry

Summary: An account of how Vergil was led into darkness and how Dante came to set up Devil May Cry. Set one year before DMC 3.

A Word From The Author: Thanks to all reviewers…

**Seeker: **I really have to apologize for omitting your name in the Thank You section last chapter. Anyway, thanks for the info. Even if it still was a bit vague. So when DID Sparda close the gate, I wonder…? As for Hermissa's name, it just got stuck in my head for some reason while I was drafting the chapter so I used it. I dunno if I can get DMC 1 though. So long ago…

**Millgen: ** Thanks for reviewing both chapters. And for the praise, coz I really need the support, due to sudden writer's block for Chapter Three.

**Trinity Archangel: **Nah, there's better stuff out there. After all, I'm pretty new to Devil May Cry, haven't got all the ropes yet.

**CrazyParty: **Well…I don't think Eva's death was mentioned in DMC3, which is why she's in here. I guess you're right; I'll just have to ignore DMC1 for this fic.

**Laylah: **Glad you think so!

**Rikku142: **Hmm…I interpreted the dialogue 'In your veins flows the blood of the sacrificed woman' as Arkham having sacrificed Mary's mother or something…that is a new take.

**Feral: **Yeah, well, here it is.

Disclaimer: I have absolutely no claim to any of the canon characters i.e. Eva, Sparda, Dante, and Vergil, who all belong to Capcom. I am not making money off this fic.

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Chapter Three: Tremors

Crimson eyes, staring at him. They were _everywhere._

This was a trap, and he'd walked straight into it.

Lightning flared, flashing silver radiance into Dante's eyes and, briefly, illuminating the blurry outlines of the demon host. Vaguely humanoid, with half-formed things that resembled human features set in wax and melted. The effect was grotesque. Lips like the scarlet slash of a knife parted, leering at him. The rain poured down harder than ever, turning them into purplish-black silhouettes dominated by hungry, burning eyes.

Dante was unimpressed.

The tallest reached for him, folds of sickly flesh falling from its jowls like drool. Its fingers were withered talons that Dante sidestepped easily. Swallowing his disgust, the half-demon then glided inside the circle of the demon's flailing arms and pulled off an uppercut that snapped the brittle bone like a twig. There was a shrill, wailing cry, yet the demon persistently clawed at his arms, its head bent to an unnatural angle.

"Ew…gross," Dante hissed, wrinkling his nose. The initial shock over, he was even beginning to enjoy himself. After all, they were just a bunch of rotting corpses. What could they do? He swung his fist into the…_thing's…_chest, which instantly gave way beneath the force of the blow. The bones crunched like dry sticks, splinters opening small cuts in his hand, which healed almost instantly.

The demon crumpled at his feet, Dante allowed himself a satisfied smile. Stepping over the pathetic remains in the ground, he settled into a fighting stance. "Okay, who's next?"

During the pitiful excuse for a fight, some of the demons had edged past and they now surrounded him. As he brushed sodden white hair out of his eyes, they came upon him in an oddly silent horde, no screaming or battle cries, just the clack-clack of claws against gravel and the insane smoldering of their eyes.

"Now, no rushing!" Dante called laughingly. "Didn't your mommy ever teach you the virtue of patience? And while we're talking about your lack of education—" He aimed a left hook at a demon stubbornly trying to sink its fangs into his bicep—"How about learning how to take a bath? You guys _stink." _He shook his head in mild sorrowfulness as he snapped off the hand off a demon tugging at his hair. "No touching the hair!" he added threateningly, lashing out with a kick that reduced the demon into bony confetti.

No doubt a more experienced…ah…demon hunter, as Dante had so grandiosely named himself…would have been alerted by now that the fight was too damned easy. And, as anyone would tell you, there's no such thing as an easy fight.

The old myths and legends are truer than we ever realized. They chronicle the pitfalls and downfalls of heroes and villains, and for both categories it's nearly always the same reason that leads to said doom. Overconfidence, underestimation. And now Dante was over inflated on both.

There were more demons than Dante had taken note of earlier. He snarled in irritation as he punched right through a particularly shambling specimen, his earlier thrill now replaced by boredom. He shoved his way through a wall of demons, to find the exit of the alley. He had gone deeper inside than he had realized, his path littered with white fragments and shattered bodies. He headed out.

Then something closed around his ankle, and he tripped, losing his balance. Too surprised to react in time, he crashed down heavily on the ground, coughing as gray, powdery substance went up his nose. "Damn!" he swore, planting his hands flat on the ground and pushing himself up. Another hard tug on his ankle, accompanied by a fierce stab of pain, pulled his feet out from beneath him, and he slid to his knees again, ruining his best trousers and introducing new scrapes to his palms. This time he yanked his leg forward sharply, and there was a sickening crack as he examined his ankle, Black talons were wrapped firmly around the leg and deep gouges had been dug into the skin. Dante cursed again as he rose to his full height and gingerly tested his injured ankle, all too conscious of the slavering demons behind him.

"Knew it was too easy," he muttered rather untruthfully to himself as he made for the entrance. On another day when it wasn't raining and he had Rebellion with him, he'd clean this nest out. Now, he was suddenly craving dry clothes and steaming pizza. Anything that was _hot._

There was a sound, like fabric rubbing on fabric, ahead of him. The bone shards seemed to glow white in the darkness of the alley, illuminated occasionally by lightning as it splintered across the boiling sky. The scuffling noise came again. Dante ignored it; he kept his eyes fixed on the orange light spilling into the alley, cast by a lamp on the street.

It was consumed by shadow. Dante skidded to a halt as his demon sight was abruptly unable to penetrate the darkness. Blinded, apprehensive, he looked uncertainly around.

_SSSSh._

"What?" he asked loudly.

Around him, oddly unaffected by the rain, the bone flakes were stirred up in a mini-storm, caressing the skin of his lower legs as they danced madly, leaving numerous thin red lines. Dante hesitated, then made up his mind and plunged straight into the heart of the shadow. Ice silvered the skin of his forearms; as he rubbed his arms for warmth the layer of ice vanished into cool vapor.

Then he saw what was causing the shadow.

He saw, and was now forcibly and unwillingly intimidated, and for the first time in his short life, his firm belief in his own immortality wavered and fell apart like the ice on his skin.

_SPPPAAARRRDDDAAAA!_

Which was when Dante called to his brother for help, which, ya know, he wouldn't have done normally, but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that shit.

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_Brother, what have you done—or interfered in? _Vergil wondered with a mixture of irritability and concern as he lugged Rebellion down the stairs. His own slim katana, Yamato, was sheathed by his side, reassuring him with its comforting weight. He hurried down the stairs where his mother lay sleeping on the sofa, but as he clanked his way past—_goddamnit, what Dante sees in this heavy lump of metal I don't know—_she opened her eyes. "What's wrong, Vergil?"

_Trust Mother to be so perceptive. _He weighed his words, decided not to worry her. Besides, time was ticking by, with Dante in potential danger. "Dante got himself into another bar fight again. I've got to go sort things out. He apparently tried to pinch someone else' girlfriend…" As he spoke, he edged sneakily towards the door.

"Oh?" Eva looked suspicious. "And you need your swords to 'sort things out'?" Her sleepiness was gone, replaced by a concerned expression.

Vergil had the door half open. "Trust me, Mother, everything will be fine. Dante and I will be home soon."

"Now, just you wait, Vergil…"

Vergil escaped and shut the door behind him. He hated deceiving his mother, but he saw no reason in giving her extra time to worry. As long as he rushed, he was pretty sure he could help Dante. Fearing that he might distract his brother, he resisted the urge to call and ask if he was all right. Ignoring the looks from the few passers-by still walking around on such a cold, rainy night, he set off at a smooth lope, praying that he'd get there in time.

He didn't know what he'd do if he ever lost his brother.

Unnoticed by him, the cluster of shadows gathered thickly at the side of the brownstone shivered and twitched. Two indistinct shapes peeled themselves away, and moved, with purpose, towards two tramps covered in newspapers on a bench down the street…

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They had _reformed._

The rotting cadavers whom Dante had killed with such ease earlier had flowed together, and…_melted…_into a new shape. That was the only word that came to Dante's mind as he gazed, aghast, at the towering spectacle before him. Like wax statues that had been melted down, carelessly molded, and left to harden. The creature's skin was a ghastly fish-belly white, through which hundreds of staring, gaping faces stared blankly, pressed against the skin from the inside. Its head could only be described as a lump, devoid of any recognizable features save two small holes, which could be the nose, and the lips that gleamed particularly red against the ivory flesh like a shining cut. The familiar crimson eyes he was learning to hate littered the creature's massive six-foot tall body liberally. There was one blinking at him on the demons' belly, on its feet, its chest, its feet, on its hands. There were only three fingers, twisted and deformed, with a small mouth at each end, through which black tongues flickered like slithery fingernails. As it exhaled, shadows rushed from its nostrils and flickered around its body like a tarnished aura. Pale, naked limbs—arms, legs, a head, as though the bodies trapped within had been too much for the demon to contain and had burst out— hung from its body at intervals, looking strangely frail and vulnerable.

All in all, something not to be messed with, or at least, it was visually intimidating.

Dante had never been particularly religious, but now he mumbled a prayer to every deity he could think of. As the creature lumbered ponderously towards him, he ran forward, relying on his speed to keep out of the way of the nasty-looking hands. He aimed a punch towards the demon's abdomen. To his horror, the flesh was as soft and pliable as liquid wax. It molded around his fist, and the faces inside, stirred to wakefulness, snapped at his hand hungrily, showing small, pointed teeth.

Dante thought he might be sick. As he stumbled back, wiping his fist repeatedly on his increasingly battered-looking trousers and thinking that he would never get it properly clean again, the demon sensed him and the arms and legs on its body came to sluggish life. Fortunately, due to their unique positioning, the angle of attack was all wrong and he suffered nothing worse than a few feeble kicks. Still, as a huge fist whistled over his head, causing the hairs on his head to ripple, he knew that he could not keep this up forever. He had completely lost all sense of direction in the shadow stuff the demon was creating, and he was already tired. He fervently hoped that Vergil came soon. With Rebellion, he'd show this demon who was the boss.

But until Vergil arrived, he had to stay alive.

Then the familiar scrape of claws on the ground alerted him to the presence of the lesser demons behind. Cursing foully, among which 'fuck' was the politest, Dante relied on his senses to drive them back. But now and then one of the demons—who seemed to be immune to the globe of darkness—got in a lucky scratch. The wounds on his body burned with poison, weakening him further. Venom his demon blood could handle, no problem, but with every ailment cured, the more his energy was sapped. Time was running out.

Then the fist of the elder demon seized him around his neck; distracted by the minions, he could only claw helplessly, his eyes bulging as he sought air. Bits of pasty white stuff lodged itself beneath his fingernails, and the tiny mouths on the tips of the demon's claws hissed, and leered in vicious delight. The tongues writhed and flicked on Dante's face as though tasting him. Disgust and fear overwhelmed him.

_I'm going to die, _he thought, and his mind spiraled into blank numbness. A horrible calm engulfed him. Vergil and Eva would be so upset, but it couldn't be helped. He could only hope that they knew that he had thought of them in the end, and had loved them. A strange lethargy crept over him; probably the poison, he thought drowsily…

He was falling…

_THUD._

"Ow!"

The grip around him loosened. Dante cracked open his eyelids to find that not only was he alive and kicking, the demon's arm had chopped off at the shoulder, and that could only mean one thing…

"Verg!" he bellowed, hurriedly disentangling himself from the now limp hand. Picking himself up from where he had lain in an undignified sprawl on the ground, he added, "My sword!"

"Typical," an amused voice said from very near him. Dante nearly jumped a mile in the air, but caught himself in time. "An inch removed from death, and all you can do is scream for your weapon. Here." A cold metal hilt was pressed into his hand, which warmed quickly to its master's touch. Dante stood still for a moment, feeling terribly guilty. Despite his brother's light-hearted tone, it could not disguise the underlying relief and concern beneath it. "I'm really sorry, Verg…"

"Later," Vergil cut him off. Practical as always.

Without the need for words Dante understood what Vergil intended. The twins turned towards the beast, which was emitting a high-pitched shriek that aggravated their eardrums and clutching at its stump. The shadows were beginning to lighten a bit, and Dante could see the lesser demons crouched on the ground, shuddering, as though affected by the misery of their superior.

The elder demon's fiery eyes sought them out, and together the twins raced forward, swords drawn and glittering with a light of their own. With a few quick strokes, both had cut a pathway through and were within the innards of the demon. The faces of the dead strained forward at them, dusky eyes filled with insatiable craving. They were dispatched swiftly and soon Dante and Vergil were out again, on the other side. The demon screamed in agony and stumbled around, knocking bricks out of the walls and its own followers around. Vergil gauged the height of the demon, smirked, and gathered his long legs in a leap. At the apex of his jump, he spun in midair and his katana cut through the air—right at the demon's head. The older twin used his momentum to cleave right through the malformed lump. As Vergil landed gracefully in a crouch, Yamato pulled itself free and returned to his hand.

_Good one, _Dante commented in his head.

Without replying, Vergil turned to first dispatch three lesser demons that had been sneaking up behind him and then focused. _Now?_

_Yeah, I figure you've done enough damage._

Simultaneously, bound by their bond and connected now in the face of shared danger as they had never been before, Vergil and Dante drew their swords back, and flung. Spinning end-over-end, Rebellion and Yamato stabbed right through the demon's already mutilated belly.

"Jackpot!" the twin brothers cried in unison, as his brother's sword exited via the other side and landed in a waiting hand. As the echo of their words died, so did the demon. Without fanfare, the demon lay down and vanished into thin air, causing the mist to dissipate. So did the minions; screaming in rage and disappointment, their cries a suiting serenade for their master's demise, they disappeared, leaving behind the dirty rags they had worn.

Gasping, both brothers tossed back each other's sword before sinking to the ground, reveling in each other's companionship. After a while, Vergil spoke, "You owe me a very big favor, Dante."

"Isn't it enough to know that you have my undying gratitude?" Dante asked hopefully, leaning on his brother's back.

Vergil smiled wickedly. "No such luck. Garbage duty for a month, mister I-Can-Take-On-Ridiculous-Numbers-Of-Demons-On-His-Own."

"Aw, come on…"

Vergil suddenly spun around, causing Dante to fall back into his lap. The older brother seized his twin by the front of his shirt, giving him a violent shake.

"Hey!"

"And what did you mean by that?" Vergil spat out, practically nose-to-nose with Dante. "You could have been killed by your foolishness! I could have lost you forever! Eva would have been devastated!" Vergil shook him again. "Think, Dante, think! Your impulsiveness could lead to your death one day, and what would that do to me!"

Dante stared at his brother in surprise. Vergil was breathing heavily, and a lock of hair had flopped down into his nose. He had never seen Vergil lose control, or said so much at one go, before. It served to intensify the pangs of guilt.

"I'm sorry," he said again, feeling the utter inadequateness of the two words. "I know, it was dumb. That is…" he laughed awkwardly. "I guess I've learned something from this. Never walk down a dark alley you _know _is demon-infested without a handy weapon."

Vergil regarded Dante intently. "Remember that." He released Dante and stood up. "Because, if you do something stupid again, I'll never let you forget it when I get to the afterlife."

Gingerly rubbing his throat, Dante followed suit. Vergil abruptly paused, and turned around. "I may have seemed harsh," he said quietly, "but I must caution you…" His somber expression suddenly turned into an evil grin, "Wait until you face our mother."

Dante stopped in his tracks. "Oh, crap! Couldn't you make up a story or something?"

"Come, Dante. You know our mother better than that. She wouldn't fall for any kind of lie. I will enjoy seeing her drag the sordid truth out of you."

Dante groaned into his hands. "In that case, you had better kill me now, because she certainly is going to when we get back."

"I'll support you," Vergil said rather unconvincingly, clapping a hand on Dante's shoulder and steering him out of the alley.

"Yeah, like hell you will…"

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

When they walked up their street, they, however, immediately knew that something was wrong. From the end of the road they could see the flashing red and blue lights that illuminated the block, the crowd of curious people, the distinctive shape of the squat ambulance, the frightened whispers that drifted in their direction, borne by a quiet evening breeze.'

"No," Vergil said uneasily. "It can't be…"

The twins broke into a mad dash; indeed, blue-uniformed policemen walked around importantly, shooing away the spectators; the red and white safety tape; the lamenting wail of the ambulance, an ominous omen for what was to come…

It was their house, all right. Shoving through the excitable crowd, some reaching out with sympathies, others with probing questions, they reached the edge of the gathering and stopped, rooted to the spot. Dante stared, utterly dumbstruck, the inquiries of the constable falling on deaf ears. Stared at the pale, crumpled figure, golden hair spread around her head like a beautiful halo…

A terrible howl of grief broke his stupor. Dante looked back, to find his twin, only to see that Vergil was gone, leaving several sprawled people in his wake where he had clearly shoved brutally aside.

"You are her son!" the policeman's words finally registered through his haze of shock. Dante nodded dumbly, unable to find his voice. The policeman took his elbow and steered him away. "I'm sorry, sir, but we'll have to ask a few questions. It's all routine, you understand…"

Dante nodded again, and for him, it seemed that the whole world had collapsed, and nothing mattered anymore…

…because she was gone.

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Author's Ending Note: And this was why Eva was alive in this story…the whole fic is based on this crucial point, you'll see why. Oh yeah, I didn't think using the demons I encountered in DMC3 was suitable, and I don't know any DMC1/2 demons, so I had to resort to original ones, I hoped you guys felt they were realistic. Oh, and like I mentioned to CrazyParty, only DMC3 info will be used in this fic.

And this chapter was longer! Yay!

See you next chapter. Ta.

Signing off,

T. Axile.

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	4. Threads Unravelling

Brother Never Cry

Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.

Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot and the weird wax demons.

A Word From the Author: Nuthin' much to say, really…

Thanks to:

**zeroray: **Try a plot pyramid. Hey, anything that works, right?

**Laylah: **That must have been gross. Experiencing the 'wax-like, putrid stench', I mean (lol). You're welcome!

**Sessol Seeker: **Thanks for the long description, though I did know most of it except the more intricate details and the fact that Eva died so early…but then, if I had stuck to the DMC1 storyline, I wouldn't have a story, as you will see.

**CrazyParty: **Then I apologize, though the plagiarizing was completely unintentional, and pretty much impossible since I haven't read any of your stories.

**ShadesOfBlood: **Cliffies are good. (hums cheerfully)

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Chapter Four: Threads Unraveling

"Vergil?" Dante's hesitant voice came tentatively through the crack of his brother's room. He felt terrible. There had been a time (was it just yesterday? Felt like eons…) when he would have just burst through, to his brother's amused annoyance, but something—perhaps the empty, cadaverous look on Vergil's face when he had finally returned late in the morning after their mother's death—told him that his twin wouldn't tolerate anything cheeky at the moment.

There was a short, unreadable pause that stretched out into eternity as Dante waited, fidgeting. At last there was a creak, soft steps, and the door was pulled open from within. Dante pulled back slightly at the sight of his brother. It had been ten hours since the horrible discovery that had changed their lives forever, but his clothes were still splattered in demon gore, normally slicked back hair falling in disarray over his eyes. In short, he didn't look like Vergil at all. Dante swallowed a sudden sick feeling in his throat and asked quietly, wincing at the unfamiliar awkwardness in the air, "Um…hey. You up for the funeral? It's…tonight."

Vergil sighed and looked away. "No thanks. I'm just going to stay here and wallow in my own misery. I can't stand any company right now." He looked pointedly at his brother. Dante got the hint, but was not going to back down so easily.

"I want to talk to you," Dante said forcefully, pushing past Vergil despite the sudden narrowing of his brother's eyes—a sure sign that Vergil wasn't just angry, he was seriously pissed off. Vergil followed Dante into his room and slammed the door hard behind him. Dante, in the process of seating himself on the room's only chair at a desk at the window, grimaced at the loud noise. This was bad, all right, for Vergil to lose control like that.

"So. Talk," Vergil said without preamble, throwing himself on his bed and staring at the ceiling. Dante attempted to make himself more comfortable, but it was impossible to do so in the atmosphere, grown so thick with unspoken words that he could have cut it with a sword.

"They've been caught," he blurted out.

"Who?" Vergil tensed slightly.

"Them. The people who…k-killed Mother…" Dante got the words out with difficulty, owing to the sudden lump in his throat. When Vergil remained silent, Dante took that as a signal to continue, "The police just called. Didn't you hear the phone?"

Vergil lifted his shoulders in the universal 'I don't care' expression, which he pulled off remarkably well considering that he was currently horizontal. Dante did his best to ignore that. "Yeah, well, it was weird. They just popped up on the steps of the station and confessed…the fingerprints on the doorframe matched theirs, so the police have them under custody…"

Vergil continued his dumb act. He could have been a dummy lying there for all the sound he was making. Suddenly angry, Dante got to his feet and shook his brother. Vergil's eyes flew open wide; he looked almost comically surprised as Dante screamed in his face, "Stop it! Stop acting as though you don't care! Because you do care about Mother, she wouldn't have wanted you to be like this—"

The older twin held still for a moment, then shoved Dante away. He stumbled back and fell against the table as Vergil loomed over him, rage in every line of his face. "Shut up! What would _you _know what she would have wanted? It was your fault she died!" he yelled, face taut as though struggling to contain his emotions. Dante froze, shocked, as he stared into the crazed eyes of his brother and felt something he had never sensed before: fear.

"You…blame me?" he asked in a pitiful whisper.

"Yes," Vergil hissed. "If you hadn't gotten yourself into trouble—_again—_I would have been at home—I could have helped her—damnit, she didn't need to die!" His eyes bored mercilessly into Dante's, every word he uttered tore a piece of Dante's soul away. The younger twin sagged against the table, his lips barely moving as he murmured, "I didn't know, Verg…"

The older twin snarled wordlessly. The sound of his stomping footsteps trailed away, ending with a slam that rattled Dante's eardrums. Dante sank to the floor, listening to the empty silence that echoed with his brother's hurtful words.

He didn't think it could get much worse, but it would.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

Later, more composed, Dante arrived at the police station. It was gray and soggy, suiting his mood perfectly, which didn't make him feel much better. Dressed in a black windbreaker over a long-sleeved shirt tucked into flaring trousers, he listened moodily as the Spardas' lawyer, a family friend, recited to him a list of the procedures he had to follow in the trial.

"Look, I don't need to tell you that this case is a little odd," said the middle-aged man, whose name was Jeremy Burgess. He looked gray and tired, and there were lines in his face. "Criminals, they usually flee from the police, not go back to them and own up. These guys could escape with the manslaughter charge 'cos of that and just get slapped with life imprisonment."

Dante scowled. "They did this to my mother. I'm not letting them get away alive."

"Well…" Burgess said uneasily. "Looks like those nutters have a good chance of doing just that." He swiveled the file in his hand towards Dante. Dante leaned forward to read it; the page showed particulars for two ordinary-looking men, one burly and bearded, the other thin and mustached. Neither man looked much like murderers, or murderers of Dante's mother for that matter, but they were.

"Harold Trotters, Kenneth Dawson." Burgess said, waving a meaty hand at the younger man. "Homeless, unemployed, with mouths to feed—desperate. They claim that the killing of your mother was accidental, and that the robbery itself was unplanned. In that case…" Burgess sighed. "These men weren't criminals, Dante. I understand how you feel, but they committed a crime out of sheer hopelessness, not out of vice, or greed, or anything that can be defined as evil."

Dante remained silent. Then he said, very softly, "I know. But it doesn't make me hate them any less. I'll see you later, okay?"

"I'm very sorry, Dante," the lawyer said gently.

The other man did not reply. Donning his jacket again, he headed back into the foggy day, with no clear thoughts where to go.

Home was definitely out; he could not live within its walls without seeing the ghost of Eva roam around, talking, laughing, and thus suffering. Not to mention he was afraid of meeting Vergil later. It pained him to feel such a way about his brother, and he hoped that once Vergil recovered from the hurt, he would forgive him. Nevertheless, Dante knew deep down that their relationship would never be the same again.

Hermissa, he thought blankly. His girlfriend. Right now, he was in need of some serious comforting. His confused thoughts clamed down somewhat by having a defined direction to go, he shrugged his shoulders deeper into his jacket and trudged down the street.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Footsteps.

Burgess looked up from his files, still preoccupied with the expression on Dante's face; guilty, pained, vengeful. He glanced absently outside in the direction where the youngest Sparda had disappeared, then blinked as he thought he caught a glimpse of white hair. Hadn't Dante left ten minutes ago?

He blinked, and the flash was gone. Shrugging, he bent back to his work.

………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was raining again, as it had the night she had died.

Sheets of rain hurtled downward towards earth, shredding the fog and drenching the heads of the small group of people huddling miserably around the grave. In her previous life as a mortal, before Sparda had changed her life, Eva had been a woman of the cloth, and the church held many fond memories for her. Thus, in her will, she had requested for her body to be buried here, in the backyard of the small Catholic church, the greenery already dotted with numerous white crosses.

Eva did not have many friends; the Sparda family had done their utmost to prevent their secret being discovered, and consequently had adopted a secretive and reserved demeanor, a tactic that earned themselves the label of 'anti-social'. However, what few she did have had roused themselves to suffer the horrible weather to watch Eva's coffin being lowered into the muddy ground, her grave already filling with water. A portly clergyman awkwardly stuttered out a eulogy before diving for the shelter of the church, while a few adults murmured condolences, clumsily patting Dante's arm. The white-haired youth endured this in silence, bleakly wondering where Vergil was.

He should be here, he thought, the rain disguising the few tears that pooled maddeningly in his eyes. He blinked them away with a supreme will of effort. Eva's circle of friends had already began to leave, uncomfortable in the midst of tragedy, leaving only Dante and Hermissa. The girl had not known Eva very well, but for Dante's sake she had come. Now she gently pushed sodden hair out of Dante's face and slipped her arms around his neck. She didn't say anything, but her large doe eyes told Dante that she would be there for him always.

He didn't say anything either. Just lowered his face into her fragrant hair, his heart aching, and let himself bask in her warmth, a sharp contrast to the frozen void inside himself. He had told her everything, even about Vergil. (Though not about the wax thingies, for obvious reasons.)

After a while, he said, "This is all my fault."

"How could it be?" she asked, compassion in her voice. Dante had told her that he had gotten into a fight and Vergil had arrived to bail him out, thus causing both of them to be absent at home when their presence might have saved Eva. Close enough to the truth, at any rate. "You loved your mother…you wouldn't have let anything happen to her…"

"Vergil said…"

"He was upset, he didn't mean it," Hermissa said firmly. "If you're worried about him, you can come to my house. We're going to catch pneumonia if we stand here any longer…"

You didn't see the look in his eyes, Dante thought sadly. He meant it, all right. Not wanting to argue, he sighed and acquiesced. "Sure. Thanks so much for everything, Hermissa." He hesitated, added, "I love you." The words sounded awkward on his tongue; he had never been any good at expressing himself. Hermissa blinked in surprise, then a smile spread slowly over her face. "Me too."

Hands clasped, the wet couple walked slowly from the graveyard. It was a ten-minute walk to her home, a very nice terrace with a small garden in the front yard. Both of them entered the warm, snug house gratefully, where Hermissa's mother, a petite woman of middling years, clucked in sympathy and gave them towels to dry themselves. To tell the truth, she had never been rather approving of Dante, but one look at the young man's woebegone expression melted her heart. After all, he had just lost his mother. Promising to make them a cup of hot chocolate each, she bustled off to the kitchen.

The two were just sharing a comfortable silence when Dante's cell phone rang shrilly, making them jump. Hastily, Dante fumbled in his pockets, his wet hands making his grip slippery, and got it out. He checked the number on the screen, hoping against hope that it would be Vergil, and his heart plummeted when he saw the number. It was from Burgess. Dante did not want to be reminded of their less than cheering conversation earlier that day. Sighing, he was about to snap it shut and ignore the call when it occurred to him that the lawyer might have some important information for him. Screw him. He shoved the phone back into his pocket as Hermissa's mother reentered with a tray.

"Thanks, Mrs. Harris," Dante smiled weakly as the woman set two steaming mugs in front of them.

"It was nothing, dear," she said kindly, patting his shoulder in sympathy. "Drink up while it's still warm." As she headed back to the kitchen, Dante turned to Hermissa and said almost bitterly, "You're so damn lucky. So was I…and I never realized it before."

The girl did not reply.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

An hour later, after refusing Mrs. Harris' offer to stay for dinner with some reluctance, Dante went back home. The rain had slowed to a slight drizzle, and tiny droplets clung to his clothes like silver gems. Dread dragging his footsteps, he looked at his brownstone and wondered glumly if Vergil was at home, and whether he was going to throw another fit. With a sudden sense of alienation, he realized that it did not feel like home anymore.

_I think I'll move out of here._

As Dante moved towards the front door, a dark shape hurtled at him out of the night. Dante let out a startled gasp just as the blurry features of the figure resolved themselves into that of Jeremy Burgess. "Jim, you scared the hell out of me!" the young man sputtered, slumping as his adrenaline spiked.

The lawyer seized his arm in an iron grip. "Dante, why the hell didn't you answer your phone earlier? It was urgent!" the man demanded.

"Jesus, man, my mother just died and you're asking me that?" Dante flared at the lawyer's accusatory tone.

Burgess' face softened and he let go of Dante. "I'm sorry, it's just that…" the man was silent, then spoke in a rush. "There will be no trial."

"What! You'll telling me that those bastards are gonna be released?"

"Well…they have been released, in a way." Shifting uneasily under Dante's death glare, the lawyer elaborated. "Somewhere between this afternoon and night, those two men were attacked by _something _in their cell. They're dead, and dead men can't be tried."

"_Something _attacked them?" Dante echoed in disbelief. "What exactly?"

The lawyer raised troubled eyes to Dante's visage. "...We don't know." He took a deep breath. "Those men, they were…they were ripped to pieces."

"By what?" A chainsaw? A wild animal?" Dante almost howled. "How could either of that get into their cell?"

"The clincher is that…" Burgess winced. "You, and your brother, definitely had the strongest motive…both of you are right smack on the top of the list of suspects."

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Author's Ending Note: 20/8/05: Okay, I kept my promise. It isn't the end of August yet. Unfortunately, from now on, I'll have some trouble updating because end-of-year exams are looming on the horizon. Expect to see the next update coming your way in November. Cheerio.

Yours, T. Axile.

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	5. Playing With Fire

Brother Never Cry

Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.

Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.

A Word From the Author: 31/8/05: Today's the day-before-Teachers'-Day holiday, so I figured I ought to make an attempt at churning out the fifth chapter. Hopefully I'll be able to post it up by tomorrow…and if so this will be the absolutely LAST post I'll make before November.

Thanks to:

**zeroray: **Glad you like it! I certainly will (keep up the good work, that is) in response to such encouragement. How's your own fic going?

**Pyromanica: **Keep the reviews coming and I'll write even better!

**Seeker: **Nah, it's alright, I really appreciate it. Anyway, I would say that this is the chapter you're looking for. Truthfully, this story is already drawing near to an end. According to my drafts, maybe only one or two chapters left…

**Laylah: **The wax nasties deserve only one chapter. I actually only created them for the purpose of, you know. Anyway, I'll be waiting for _your _update. 'Mazing story you've got there, you've converted me into a VXL believer. (While not a fan, I can now believe in the possibility.)

**ShadesOfBlood: **Great you feel that way :)

**SaiyAsianMaki: ** Yeah, they sure do…great minds **do **think alike, hee.

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Chapter Five: Playing With Fire

It was dark.

Here, the blackness was cold and oppressive, lifted only at intervals only by bright points of dancing flames that, at closer glance, formed a broad pentagon that nearly filled the whole room. It was seemingly empty save for the tall man who stood at a corner in much smaller circle. In his hand was a book, but the man seemed to have no need for it. His eyes were closed and he was murmuring harsh, guttural words that resounded in the enclosed chamber. They were chill and whispered of dark imaginings; made the listener think of the far away time when light had yet to fill the universe and the demons ruled supreme. Before Genesis, when God had said, "Let there be light." Before humans had come into the equation.

For they were old, these devils—not demon-spawn which had been formed of wild magic and dark spells. They had been there since the timeless eternity before the first day and would be there when the sun was sundered and the Earth dead and frozen. They could never be destroyed; they were the whispers of temptation that made the husband kill his wife, the feather rape his daughter, the two friends murder each other. Humans gave them a name: 'Satan'. For centuries they and the light had been locked in a struggle for dominance. So far, neither had won. Perhaps they were never meant to.

He had known, since he was a young man in the clergy, that there was where the power lay, power he intended to harness. As a priest, he had coolly, with the analytic detachment of a scientist, studied the hearts and minds of his future enemies, as he foresaw. He could be very charming when he wanted to—the charm of an adder—and it was in those years he married his wife. Not for love, but for her heritage. She had loved him, imagined he loved her. He had let her believe in the lie, until the end, when she had become ill and nearly thwarted his plans. But she served her purpose. Before her death, she bore him—a baby girl.

The man opened his eyes. They shone through the darkness with eerie luminescence. He had waited, patiently, and now the little girl was grown up, and so were the sons of Sparda. His plan, long thought out, could be put into action. He had little doubt it would succeed, for his strategy had been honed and perfected by years of doing little else but brood over his ambition that burned before his eyes like a star. It was just beyond his reach now, but very soon…

In the pentagon, the fire flickered and nearly went out, but soon calmed and burned sullenly. An unnatural darkness shrouded the chamber, almost engulfing the blazing candles, and in the center of the pentagon indistinct shapes spun into existence. The man waited, as he trained himself to do over the years, and eventually, the darkness coalesced into two shapeless outlines that flickered as though unreal and constantly shifted shape and position. The man was not impressed by their pathetic attempts to try to intimidate their master.

One of them spoke, mind ti mind. He let them, vaguely amused and curious as to what the spawn were thinking. _Master, we have killed the woman for you…set us free… _one moaned in what was his opinion a whiny 'voice'.

…_you promised…_ chimed in the other one.

The man's smile tightened at the last comment, and he intoned a word. The two shadow creatures he controlled screamed and writhed as the spell of pain took effect. Unruffled by the echoing shrieks that assaulted his brain, he addressed them blithely, "Remember…you do as _I _say. Always." He paused for effect. "Don't presume to order me around, or you could end up worse next time. Understood?"

…_Yes, Master! Please…stop it…we shall obey…_

He let them contort about a moment longer before he lowered his hand, releasing them from the curse. "See that it remains so. As it is, I have one last task for you."

_We serve you, Master. Speak your will._

He told them. For a moment, both specters began thrashing in agitation, but sensing his steely eyes on them, they stilled. He smiled, dismissed them with a flick of his fingers. "You may go." He did not add that he did not expect them to come back. Their purpose was served, they could rot in hell for all he cared. When they were finally, reluctantly off on their task, he stepped out of the circle.

Absently, his thoughts drifted to his daughter. Now, that was a face he had not seen in years, ever since she had called him a bastard and walked out when she was nineteen. No matter. He would see her as early as next year. Once she heard about what he was doing (from a convenient source provided by him) she would rush over here faster than a horny tom on a tabby. It was amazing how terribly predictable she could be.

He smiled to himself in the darkness. Suddenly, he found it extremely ironic that he had named his daughter after the woman who had given birth to a savior of man when she would bring about the end of humanity.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

_(…a couple hours before…)_

The cell door was tested, then ripped off its hinges. His shadow loomed large over the two men who looked up, startled, from their sleep and blanched at the look on his face.

"Who the hell are you?" demanded the stockier one, his wide eyes straying back and forth between the intruder and the stolid door, crumpled up like a piece of paper and lying against the wall. The visitor took no notice and stepped further within. His lip curled in a sneer. "So…" he said, almost as if her was talking to himself, "Here you are. Trapped like rats in a hole." His voice was well modulated and mellifluous, but his eyes were dark, narrowed. Deranged.

The skinnier one noticed first. Unlike his companion, he did not stick around to talk, but let out a squeak of sudden terror and bolted for the now unbarred exit. The visitor's hand moved, quick as lightning, and the prisoner was squirming frantically in an iron grip. The other man backed away, mouth opening to call for help…

A cerulean glow filled the little room, bringing to mind the blue of frozen lips, stark winter skies, and deep, impenetrable oceans. The stones vibrated, as though they too feared, as the men cowered before the visitor as his mouth peeled back in a snarl. He lurched forward—

"NO!"

Tortured screaming…boots pounding up the steps…

Then, there was silence.

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_(…present…)_

Dante pushed open the door to the house slowly, Burgess' words still ringing in his head. Would this insanity never end? The youth suddenly felt a flash of resentment against his mother for dying…her death had released an avalanche of events that was rapidly spiraling out of control. He quickly shook his head to dismiss the ridiculous thoughts from his mind.

"…Vergil…?" he said hesitantly into the cold silence of the house.

For a moment, only the sound of the clock chiming out the hour broke the heavy stillness. Dante sighed, his shoulders slumped. He slowly wended his way through the living room and up the stairs. Halfway, he paused, cocked his head curiously to one side, as though to hear something.

The reverberation of breaking glass shattered whatever illusion of tranquility the house might have had. Jolted into action, Dante ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The crash had come from the direction of their rooms, and unhesitating he headed towards them. Finding that _his _room was fine, he turned towards Vergil's. The door was locked. Worry and fear for his twin knotted his heart tightly. Without thinking of the consequences, Dante smashed the door inwards, splinters driving themselves painfully into his curled fist. The door swung inward, and he followed it, skidding to a halt at the sight that met his eyes.

"_Vergil!"_

The older twin lay face down, his prone form outlined from behind by the brightly burning orange streetlamps that beamed through the window. Most of the glass had relocated themselves to various positions on the floor and below Vergil, with only a few shards still holding on tenaciously to the frame. At the moment, Dante didn't care; the only thing that mattered was Vergil, and the ugly red stain on the floor where Vergil had slid before coming to a stop.

Dante crouched before his brother, terror making his mind numb. What would happen to him if he lost his brother? Dante foresaw days of bitter loneliness, without family, and eventual despair, and its near reality frightened him, when his brother was so silent and still before him.

"Vergil," he said again, pain lodging in his throat. His brother moaned and stirred, but remained sunken in his unconsciousness. He gently pushed a few strands of white hair out of Vergil's face, still pressed firmly to the floorboards, and gingerly turned him over. Dante wasn't sure what he expected to find…horrible, gaping wounds, perhaps, but aside from a few deep cuts on his face and torso, where the clothing had been ripped away by…_claws…?…_he seemed whole enough that the huge amount of blood soaked into his clothing was completely unjustified. Vergil was literally _splattered _in the stuff. Dried patches clung to his jawline, his eyelashes were clogged with blood. Even his hair had become a becoming shade of light pink.

Dante sat back onto his heels and blew a breath, relieved to find that Vergil was fine. Now that his concerns had vaporized, though, new, disturbing suspicions took their places. How the hell had Vergil come through the window? Thrown through? Flown through? Dante was about to laugh at the utter absurdity of the thought when he was suddenly reminded of the fact that he and Vergil were far from ordinary people. Sparda was a devil. He had wings. And he sure had some powers, or he wouldn't be legendary.

And they were his sons.

His legacy. His…inheritance.

Dante's eyes went wide and he shook his head in denial. No, it couldn't be. Not Vergil. Confused memories of happier times came to him—mock pillow fights, sparring with wooden swords, eating chocolate cake on their birthday, a lifetime of shared secrets and brotherly love. Then his wandering thoughts took a darker path. Hurting words. Cold eyes. His brother's back as he walked away. And now this, lying on the floor in a pool of blood that was not his. Dante looked upon the figure stretched out before him and it was as though he was gazing upon a stranger. Longing for simpler, uncomplicated times filled him suddenly, causing his eyes to sting painfully.

His own words, and Burgess', came back to him, spoken rashly and without thought, less than an hour before.

"_Those men, they were…they were ripped to pieces."_

"_By what? A chainsaw? A wild animal? How could either of that get into their cell?"_

"_You and your brother…are right smack on the top of the list of suspects."_

Dante, slowly and surely, began to believe.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He was flying…it was glorious. The feel of the wind whipping against his body, the sheer _power _ of it all…it intoxicated him, made him dizzy.

_"I wish I could fly like that, mummy!" The little boy ran onto the porch, eyes bright with pleasure and longing as he pointed at the sparrows winging across the sky._

___Eva came up behind him, stroked his hair. He felt his mother's arms encircle him. "One day you will, darling," she assured him softly. She smelt of hazel and something warm and indefinite. Vergil loved that smell and he _loved _his mother._

_"__Really?" he asked with childish innocence._

___Eva laughed. "You're a very special little boy, Vergil." He thought he saw her eyes grow sad but he didn't understand. "When you grow up, you'll know."_

___Vergil pouted. "You're always saying that."_

___Eva smiled slightly. "Maybe because it's true." She tickled the little boy. "It's getting late, let's get back inside before Dante finishes off all the cookies."_

_…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………_

Vergil slowly woke up. His head felt as though it had been stuffed with cotton wool and it made him feel irritable. Slowly he planted his arms and pushed himself upright so as not to aggravate his aching head.

You're awake," said a voice flatly.

Vergil started and wheeled around so fast his head spun. Barely keeping his insides in check, he fixed his patented cold stare on his brother, whose voice was flat and devoid of the usual pathetic pleading tone that had replaced his previous sardonic humor. Vergil felt resentful at the fact that he had let Dante catch him at a weak moment. The emotion only surprised him a little. Dante had caused Eva's death, and that was enough to condemn him in Vergil's eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked rudely. His attitude jolted no more emotion out of Dante than before, though it did receive a response, a cool one that could have come from Vergil himself, at that, "This is my house too, you know."

Vergil successfully attained a stable position and for a moment the brothers stared hatefully at each other. Suddenly, Dante spoke. His voice was shaking, not from sorrow, Vergil was surprised to note, but from rage. His little brother was growing up at last.

"You killed them. Didn't you?"

Vergil smirked and tilted his head to one side. "Of course. I couldn't let my mother's murderers go unpunished, could I?"

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Author's Ending Note: 31/8/05: Whew! Finished same day, in two hours of supreme effort and to the accompaniment of 'The Riddler' and 'Sleeping Sun' by Nightwish. Anyway, hope you guys liked the latest installment, and that nobody was too offended by the religious stuff (you guys should have realized by now that I'm a Christian) and my assumption that you-know-who was a priest (I always thought so cos of that book he was always lugging around and quoting 'verses' from, maybe it's a demonic version of the Bible). Goodbye to everyone until November.

T. Axile.

_………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….._


	6. Shattered

Brother Never Cry

Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.

Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.

A Word From the Author: 15/10/05: First part of exams over, so I've got some time to write. I hope I'll be able to finish the story by end of the year…

Thanks to:

**SaiyAsianMaki: **Yeah, summat like that. Coz he feels that Dante indirectly led to the death of their mother, and then he gets even more angry when he thinks that Dante is too soft in his attitude towards her murderers…who aren't really her murderers at all, if you read between the lines, last chapter, part one.

**Sutremaine: **Okay, I didn't know that. And thanks for the info. However, I doubt I'll be able to lay hands on such a comic, due to where I live. Ahhh welll. Cookies for the long review, and for the spotting of my mistake last chapter. Fixed up now. As for the mental link, okay, may be that was a little far-fetched, but then you know there's all this stuff about twins being psychic and tuned in to each other's emotions, and since Verge and Dante are kinda special twins, I figured maybe they could hold a mental conversation. Considering how I used it, it's become a big part of the story. Anyway, could you tell me the name of the comic?

**VergilSparda666: **I hope so too. I've got a biiiigg exam on the 31st.

**To the anonymous reviewer: **Only in my story anyway. I don't know about canon.

**Blademaster16: **I just read Past's Nightmares. Sorry I didn't read your work before, but y'know, I was occupied by my exams and all.

**ShadesOfBlood: **Indeed. Your enthusiasm is contagious.

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Chapter Six: Shattered

(_earlier)_

There was blood everywhere.

The towering figure standing in the middle of the cell looked up from his carnage and sneered as he heard the sound of boots stamping hastily up the steps. There was no pity or regret in his gaze, but contempt and a raw hatred. With inhuman strength he wrenched the metal bars out of the window. A few kicks out a steel-shod boot sent bricks flying away, leaving behind a hole large enough for him to exit.

"Halt!" The crimson sunlight of the setting disk pouring through the enlarged hole blinded the three men who entered the dingy cell, glittering off the raised barrels of their guns. He was an ideal target, silhouetted against the light. But then he did something none of them expected. He threw himself out of the hole.

Ineffectually the guns barked, and the next few seconds were a mass of confusion and panicked shouting as the horribly mangled pieces barely recognizable as human were discovered and the echoes of the gunshots drowned out the shouts of the leading officer. Finally they regained their heads, and rushed out to look through the hole…only to see some very puzzled and frightened passers-by, and a pristine sidewalk. There was no sign of the man anywhere.

Because they didn't look up.

He was flying…it was glorious. The feel of the wind whipping against his body, the sheer _power _of it all…it intoxicated him, made him dizzy. He stared at his demonic body, discovered in a fit of furious rage that had brought adrenaline surging through his veins, all the anguish and bitterness of finding his mother dead compressed in a single instant that had brought the demon out.

Oh, how he _reveled _in it…

"You poor, ignorant souls," Vergil told the multitudes below him, gloating, knowing in that moment that he was more powerful than them. "Scurrying around, making love, waging war, working, in that eternally clockwise life of yours as if all of that holds any meaning. Ignorant of the _larger _power all around you…" He surveyed his extended claws and smiled. And then anything that was left of who he had been passed, completely, into what he would become.

The burning sun slid below the horizon, and the lights in the city flickered to life, dot of light in the darkness, a reflection of the night sky above strung with stars. Vergil continued to muse, almost unconsciously. When he got into a 'pontificating mood', as Dante had laughingly told him once, (such a long time ago!) there was no stopping him.

"Denying the darkness, all around you…trying to drive it back with your candles and lamps." Vergil stared at the city with blazing eyes as he flew leisurely, barely skimming the roofs of the houses. And if anybody saw him, they put it down to the case of overworked nerves, overexcited imagination, fear of the night…it was amazing how many excuses the humans invented to convince themselves that the netherworld didn't exist. It was _there, _teeming with life, below their feet and in the abandoned alleys. On North Street a girl was being eaten, trying to scream as she died through a torn throat. East of the library a man summoned dark magicks that resonated through the night and Vergil's soul. All this and more his demonic senses told him. And it excited him.

He wanted to be part of that world.

"You were wrong, Father," he whispered to himself, as he headed to the place where he lived. "You thought the demons were the villains…but they weren't." A bitter grimace peeled the half-demon's black lips away from sharp white teeth.

"It was the humans…all along…"

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Vergil was in sight of the house when they attacked.

Part of the night themselves, waking shadows, Vergil was only aware of their presence when a cold sensation, like ice water poured on him, slid up his body, and was immediately followed by intense pain that rocked him. Gasping, he tore away. Blood trickled from his shoulder, but he didn't have time to examine the wound as more pain wracked him. This time bleeding from a neck wound, Vergil's first thought was fear.

Then anger.

Vergil scanned the skies, his anger molding him into a ball of bunched muscle. Whoever doing this…would pay. They had no idea whom they were dealing with. Despite his instincts screaming at him to flee, he held still, waiting.

A flicker of motion, to his right. Vergil spun, his clawed hand reaching out…into something, barely tangible, and _cold. _The freezing sensation spread up his arm, but Vergil ignored it, keeping his purpose first and foremost in his mind. Then his claws found _ flesh. _Malleable, slightly sticky. But best, _real, _solid.

He began to squeeze.

There was a sharp squeal of pain—heard not by Vergil's ears, but his mind. Before he even realized what he was doing, his eyes registered another flash of movement and his arm was swinging, and the second creature dove straight into the body of its companion. There was a sickening thud, then teeth sunk into the skin of the hand holding the creature. Vergil did not lose his grip, or his head. He opened his mouth, and his fangs flashed, long and silver, in the moonlight as he inclined his head.

And met flesh.

There was a _RIIIIP _sound that thrilled Vergil's senses as the meat in his jaws tore easily. He pulled his head away, spat out the _thing _ in his mouth. Demon blood, black and cool and smooth like velvet, stained his lips and pooled in his mouth. He licked them with a black tongue.

A weak cry of agony, and the teeth slid out of his hand. He caught the retreating creature in the other. And thought.

He had known that he was more powerful than the humans. But it had not occurred to him—that he might best the demons and devils of the underworld as well. As he held the two weakly struggling demons in his claws, he felt a thrill. He could do this! Lead the demons, lick them into shape, send them on a grand crusade that would remove every human from the face of the earth. He remembered the news, the histories of every petty and meaningless war the humans had caused. Hiroshima. Pollution. Global warming. Murders, rapes, suicide.

"Is this the glorious world you envisioned, Father?" he asked the long-dead spirit of his father now. "Don't worry…I'll save it for you."

Vergil tightened his grip. There was an explosion of blood, and the two minor demons went limp and flaccid. He tossed them away…but not before they abruptly dissolved into stinging mist that burned his eyes and skin. He howled in pain, even as he lurched blindly towards his house, and his fading eyes registered a window before he dived through and lost his senses in a shattering of glass shards.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

"I thought so," Dante said quietly. There was no trace of surprise in his expression, just a stone cold regret.

"Glad you finally used your brain for once," Vergil said coldly.

Dante looked at his brother. The stress of the past few hours sent his mind reeling, his heart in turmoil. But one thing was very clear to him.

First he asked. He had to know, if there was anything left of his big brother, or he would never forgive himself. He took a deep breath.

"What are you going to do now?"

It was a loaded question. More than it seemed. Vergil's eyes flickered; he knew Dante's meaning. "Take a bath," he said flippantly.

Dante's eyes bored into his brother's. "That's not what I meant, Verg…Vergil." The old nickname no longer seemed appropriate for the hunched, blood-splattered man before him, eyes filled with shadows and death.

Vergil sighed. A soft sound, like the wind passing. His expression softened a little, as though he could see all of Dante's thoughts written on his face like a book. And he probably could. The bond wrought by the blood of brothers could not be thrown aside that easily. Not even by hatred…and there was plenty of it, Dante was beginning to find, stamped in Vergil's expression the day after Eva had died; in the pit of his own stomach, twisting his guts…

"Stop it, Dante," Vergil said almost gently. "There's nothing you can do for me now."

And Dante knew, with a sickening feeling, that Vergil was right.

…So he stopped trying.

"I guess…" he said slowly, "there's only one thing left to do now." The blade virtually seemed to leap into his hand as he swung it to graze his brother's throat. Dante had snatched Rebellion from his room earlier, never dreaming that he would have to use it against Vergil.

"Are you going to kill me, Dante?" Vergil was smiling at him, a blank, empty smile that was horrible to see. He was making no move to escape, or resist; just sat there, his cold, cold eyes fixed on Dante's face.

Dante swallowed. "Yes," he said clearly. "You're just like the rest of them now."

Vergil's smile twisted into a smirk. "And for that I'm glad, Dante," he sneered. "I wish to have nothing to do with the humans that are destroying this world. You may defend your precious humans all you wish, my brother, but you can't deny that fact."

"Our mother was human!" Dante shouted, Rebellion wavering dangerously in his hand, and cutting fine red lines into Vergil's skin. Almost desperately, he sought Vergil's eyes, looking for…what? Some flicker of the person Vergil had been? He really, _really, _didn't want to do this…

"She died," Vergil said simply. "Betrayed by her own race."

Dante's lips flattened. "Not everyone is like that." He thought of Hermissa, Jeremy, his classmates. "Goodbye, Vergil." He thrust.

Several things happened simultaneously. Vergil gripped the blade, and crimson rivers meandered down his wrists and arms as he violently propelled himself backward. Rebellion, its edges stained red, shot forward over Vergil's head. At the same time, the half-demon's hand shot outwards, and Yamato arced into its master's grasp. As Dante regained his control and resettled into a fighting pose, Vergil rolled to his feet, his face white with pain.

"You don't understand, do you?" Vergil asked, his voice soft, almost pitying. "I _won't _let anyone get in the way of my vision. Not even _you." _He cut at Dante with a flurry of strokes, forcing him to back away. Vergil had always been the better swordsman…still, Dante eyed the numerous wounds on Vergil's person, and the deep cuts scarring his palms, the profound exhaustion underscoring Vergil's stance, and realized that he might have a chance. Vergil, too, knew that he had to end the fight fast before he tired beyond battling capacity. His wounds were healing far too slowly for his liking; despite Dante's many faults, he was a decent fighter, and might best him.

And he couldn't allow that.

"You've already avenged Eva's death," Dante told him, sidestepping a particularly vicious stroke. "Do you have to kill the entire population of humans to sate your thirst for vengeance?"

"It has nothing to do with our mother anymore," Vergil spat, cutting at Dante's knees. Dante leaped over Yamato's flashing blade and kicked at Vergil's hand. It sent a tremor of pain through his slashed hand, but Vergil was able to retain his grip on the tachi sword. "Her death showed me the true nature of the humans, and the way."

"Was Father fooled, too?" Dante asked angrily.

Vergil shrugged. "Whatever the case might be, I will complete his work for him," he said, staring at Dante with his pale eyes, and for the first time Dante identified insanity in them. "I will be my father's son, while _you—_" he snarled out the word contemptuously, " will be the son that did nothing."

Anger became cold rage. It burned through Dante, but it did not fog, instead sharpening. Dante charged at Vergil, and surprise registered in his twin's cold eyes just before he swung the tachi up to meet Rebellion. For a moment, they stood, locked, gazing at each other through the crossed blades.

"No," Dante said quietly, "I'll be the one who saved the world from a misguided soul. You." The words sank in, and Vergil's face hardened. Before he could say anything, however, Dante planted his feet, and shoved.

In prime form, Dante would never have hoped to defeat Vergil with a significant amount of luck. This time, Vergil was tired, bleeding, and unstable. Vergil lost his balance, and his boots made a screeching noise as they scrabbled for purchase on the bloodstained floor. Instinctively, Vergil's attention turned to regaining his balance rather than his foe, and he threw his hand out.

Dante struck again. The momentum of his charge sent Vergil careening backwards, the edge of his boot sliding backwards until it touched the wall. His back hit the remnants of the broken window—and then, empty air. Vergil's eyes caught Dante's, and Yamato sang through the air as it snagged Dante's belt with incredible precision. Without a moment's delay, Dante found himself en route to the ground floor along with his brother.

They slammed into the ground in a tangle of limbs, their blades flying from their hands and spinning aimlessly through the dust. Without hesitation Dante jerked his head upwards and had the satisfaction of hearing Vergil's gasp of pain as his nose shattered. The older twin located his hands and threw his brother bodily away. Dante winced as he hit the hard surface for the second time, causing his bruised body to scream in protest. Instinct saved him; a cool breeze on his right cheek caused him to quickly roll to the left. Yamato sank into the earth where he had lain a half second later.

"Damn you! Why can't you leave me alone?" Vergil hissed.

"Uh uh. No can do." Dante regained his feet, and spotted Rebellion, shining dully in the dark. Unfortunately Vergil was between him and the sword. The older twin seemed to realize this, and deliberately kept himself in the middle when Dante tried to edge to the right. He looked less than Vergil Sparda than ever, his handsome features distorted by cold anger and the broken nose, his hair and clothes stained with demon guts and human blood.

"Right," Vergil said, musing. "That's not your nature." For a moment he almost smiled. "You always did like to annoy me, didn't you."

"Still do, Verg, still do," Dante corrected, almost forgetting that he was locked in mortal combat with his brother, and falling back into easy banter easily, so easily, that he wondered why it had to be this way. Then Vergil's nostalgic smile faded, and the darkness surged back in a torrent.

And. That was why.

Dante looked around wildly. The backyard of the house was all stone and no cover; nothing in sight he could use to defend himself. And Rebellion…

Vergil charged, arrogance stamping itself onto his features in anticipation of an easy victory against his unarmed brother. Adrenaline surged through Dante like a wave, and a single crazed thought ripped through his mind, _COME HERE, DAMN YOU!_

It was the one discipline Dante had never been able to master; summoning his sword. Vergil had learnt that relatively early, but Dante had never understood exactly what his father had meant when he said to treat one's weapon like a piece of one's soul; that summoning it was like asking a portion of yourself to come back and reunify with the rest, a natural and instinctive impulse. Then Sparda had died, and there was no one to teach him…

_I need you. Return to me._

Dante grew calm, his thoughts settled in the face of Death. And for a moment he thought he saw, in his mind's eye, a girl, with wild black hair, an ankh around her neck. She held his hands, and said, "_No. Now is not your time…"_

He was back, and Rebellion outstretched in his hands, and surprise and horror in Vergil's eyes. Unable to stop, Vergil impaled himself on the blade even as, with his last strength, he swept Yamato at Dante. It came within an inch of his throat, and sliced into his chin. Shocked, he released Rebellion. Vergil sank to the ground, the massive sword buried to its hilt in his chest. He went still.

Dimly, Dante noted that the eyes of the skull adorning Rebellion's hilt burned red. But even as the thought crossed his mind, the glow faded.

It was over.

Dante took a few staggering steps away from his brother's corpse, and then collapsed. He brushed sweaty hair from his eyes, and the cut on his chin stung where salty perspiration dribbled into it. Exhaustion bled into his bones, he could barely move. Intense pain that had nothing to do with his stretched muscles and numerous buts filled him, weighed him down with lethargy.

Then Vergil moved.

Dante blinked again, certain he was seeing things. But no…Vergil straightened, dark liquid trickling from his lips. He grasped hold of Rebellion's hilt and pulled. It came out with a wet squelching sound, grating agonizingly against tendon and bone. He screamed as he dropped it to the ground, then scaled wings sprouted out of Vergil's back. The older twin swung his head to stare unerringly at Dante, and he saw that his face had become that of a skull's.

_I'm a goner._

Then, the demon stumbled. Its black lips twisted in an expression Dante couldn't read. It fell to its knees, then lurched upwards again. Grabbed Yamato, turned its face towards the sky. Still dark, but a brighter blue at the fringes of the night…

It spread its wings, and flying awkwardly, left him lying, hurt and alone, in the backyard. Leaving him wishing that he were dead. He closed his eyes, and everything was just a greater blackness.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

Author's Ending Note: 17/10/05: Whew! Glad that this chapter is over and done with. As you can tell, it contains practically every single thing I used to build the premise for this story upon: Vergil's reasoning in reviving Temen-ni-gru, my interpretation of Dante's words ("No matter how hard you try, you'll never be like Father."). And of course, a big fight between the two brothers. I didn't really like this chapter though. I think I turned up the angst a notch too high here. Whadya guys think? So far, I think that Playing With Fire was my favorite. Anyway, see you next chapter.

Added 18/10/05: Oh yeah, the 'girl with the wild black hair' Dante saw was Death of the Endless and a reference to Mr. Gaiman's great comic series 'The Sandman'.

COMING SOON (I hope): CHAPTER SEVEN—PICKING UP THE PIECES

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	7. Picking Up The Pieces

Brother Never Cry

Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.

Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.

Thanks to:

**loveaswellashateforever: **Hiya! I've noticed you've taken your story down…how come? All you need is a beta and editor and your story will be as right as rain. Thanks for reviewing all my other stories as well.

**The comfy Tyrant: **Aw, I'm no genius…though I liked being called one as much as the next person (grins).

**Sutremaine: **Thanks for the info! The Saturday after my last chapter, I went shopping with some friends and I spotted a comic store…and I got the manga. After that, I found another store somewhere else and now I own Evil Woman. Couldn't get the rest coz I didn't have 'nuff money…sigh. Can't wait to get my hands on the last two…

**ShadesofBlood: **I take pride in my cliffies. That'll probably be the last one, though. This story is nearly finished, I'll just need to tie it all up.

**BladeMaster16: **You're welcome. You've helped me mucho as well with your reviews. Heh…I made Vergil really evil and creepy, didn't I? Poor Verge…he did it only because I made him…

Vergil (sporting large lump on head): You can say that again…

Shut up and remember whose mercy you're at. At least I didn't put you into a DanteXVergil pairing, so be grateful. Now go and lay the table.

Vergil (grumbles): Slave driver…(shuffles awkwardly away due to the numerous large white bandages covering him)

(Insert Evil Author Chuckle here)

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Chapter Seven: Picking Up The Pieces

Two identical faces beam into a camera, blue eyes alight with the joy of living.

Flip.

Two boys in a playground. One sits on a swing, the other stands behind, hands on his brother's shoulders. They smile.

Flip.

A birthday cake, with nine candles on it, Mint chocolate, with rainbow sprinkles and icing that spells out, 'Happy Birthday, Vergil & Dante!'

Flip.

A golden-haired woman, arms around her sons, who smile at her adoringly.

Flip.

Prom night. Hair falling into his eyes, Dante waves at the camera, clad in a tux, arm around a pretty girl.

Flip.

Graduation. Looking serious in black robes, the twins stand together, scrolls in hand.

Flip. Flip. Flip.

Dante's first date. Camping in the mountains. A holiday in Italy. More birthdays. Vergil receiving numerous awards and scholarships. Dante's disastrous first and only attempt at fishing. Vergil laughing his ass off. A lifetime of shared happiness and brotherly love, held within the worn covers pf the album, the leather old and stained from use. Staring at Eva's laughing face, knowing that she could only exist for him, there, on paper thereafter, Dante felt numb. There was a hole in his heart. He could feel it whenever he thought about his mother, now returned to the earth after so many long years. He would never see her again, vibrant and animated, he would never receive another hug, hear another word from her. He saw her in his thoughts and reached out to her, only to have the precious illusion crumble and be reminded, oh so cruelly, that she was lost to him forever. His eyes burned as he closed the album and carefully set it aside.

Hermissa picked it up, her fingers tracing over the peeling gold letters, _Memory Lane, _stitched into the cover, her silent gaze offering both sympathy and comfort. Dante sat amid the mess of his room, shoulders hunched and shaking just the slightest bit, prematurely white hair spilling over his face and hiding his expression.

Hermissa didn't know all the details, but what she did know shocked her enough to resist her natural impulse to pry the rest out of Dante. It'd been nearly a day and a half since she'd found Dante sprawled and unconscious in his backyard, cut and bruised up, but nothing too serious. Still, the hospital had kept him under observation for about a day. He'd clearly gone through a lot since he'd left her house, and he was only discharged once the staff had felt that he wasn't in danger of becoming mentally unstable from his ordeal. The police had been notified, and Hermissa had sat through the questioning with Dante. She still couldn't believe it. Vergil had always been nice to her, so calm and collected. She couldn't imagine the stress he must have undergone that had broken his unbending, rigid will.

"Aren't you going to bring that with you?" she asked softly, patting the album she cradled in her hands. Her voice jerked him out of his reverie, and he gave her a blank look before the raw emotion crashed into his eyes like a tidal wave. She saw his jaw clench and his head shake firmly. "No. Keep it if you want." He turned and yanked out a drawer so forcefully its contents spilled onto the already swamped floor, covered with clothes, books, socks and goodness knows what else A faint red glow arrested Hermissa's attention as Dante pulled out a necklace with a red stone set in gold formerly concealed in a pair of knobby socks. He looked at it with an unreadable expression before putting it around his neck. Hermissa was surprised. She'd no idea that Dante had that kind of taste in jewelry.

"My mother's," Dante sad in explanation when he saw Hermissa's raised eyebrow. "She gave me this amulet on my fifteenth birthday…told me to take care of it…it was one of a pair. Vergil…got the other one." His brother's name escaped his lips reluctantly.

"Dante…" The girl's ached for him, as it had been doing ever since she'd heard his incredible story about how his confrontation with Vergil, that had ended in a massive sword fight and Vergil's departure from his life. Gazing at Dante, slumped over in a pose of utter and complete defeat, she went over to him and put her arms around him.

"They'd never catch him, you know." Dante's voice was hollow.

"Pardon?" Hermissa blinked.

"Verge," Dante said in the same emotionless voice. The Chief had been convinced enough by Dante's account to write out a search warrant for the wayward twin and send officers to investigate. Right now Vergil's room had been blocked off while samples were taken, and a officer guarded the house in case Vergil tried to return.

"He won't be found if he won't want to. And if he is, he'll be better than any team they can send after him," Dante continued, a hint of unconscious pride in his voice. "They won't catch him," he repeated.

"Dante," Hermissa said. She'd let the album fall into the floor in her haste to go to her boyfriend, and it had fallen open to a photo of Dante and Vergil after a school trip to the Observatory. Standing in front of the college, Dante flashed his confident smile, so different from who he was now, arm around Vergil's shoulder, his face as always serious and reserved, but it seemed to her that the corner of his lips were quirked, and there was a hint of laughter in his eyes. She knew that photo. She had taken it. And she had thought, as she aimed the camera that day, about how rare the love the two brothers shared was, and how she'd never see it anywhere else again.

Lying, in pieces. Its sharp ends stabbing Dante in the heart whenever he thought about his brother. Hermissa steeled herself to open those wounds, because she knew that those hurts would fester if ignored and forced to the back of the mind…

"Do you still love him?" she asked softly, her tone begging him to confide in her and unload his misery, but also filled with affectionate understanding. If he would not share with her, she would not press. Dante remained silent, struggling with his emotions, while Hermissa waited with infinite patience.

"Gods, _yes,_" Dante blurted out, looking almost startled at the words spilling from his mouth in an onslaught of pain. "How could I? How could I not? He's my big bro and always will be. He's my twin. We made a promise, you know. To protect each other. And he _broke _that promise and threw it in my face." He paused for breath, then went on as though compelled. Hermissa's embrace tightened as he spoke, each word a serrated barb dragging through his heart and out through his lips. "I hate him. I love him. I feel guilty for hating and loving him. I wish I could stop loving him. Just like how he stopped loving me. It would make things so much easier…" The last few words escaped in a gusty sigh.

"But you know what, Hermissa? I don't hate him for killing those two people. Hell, I'd even thought of it myself. Those were the two sonafabitches who killed my mother. And we both loved her so much. Maybe Vergil even loved her more than I did. No, it was the fact that he did it without regret, without sorrow. I might still have forgiven him then. That's how much I love him. But he said such things to me, such terrible things, Hermissa, that…" The girl could feel his whole frame shudder as he fought to control himself.

"That I knew that the world wouldn't be safe from him until he's _dead._"

Half-embarrassed by his outburst, Dante drew away from her slightly and bowed his head, letting his hair hide his face again. He fiddled with his collar while Hermissa absorbed what she had heard. It appalled her. It touched her.

"And who's going to make sure…?" she asked, unable to hide a hint of rebuke in her tone. She immediately chastised herself as Dante stiffened. "I'm so sorry…I shouldn't have…"

"Hermissa. Sweetheart." Dante rested his chin on her head. "You're a wonderfully understanding person, and I love you. But…I'm the only person for this. The only person who can stop him. And I will. I will," he reaffirmed, his voice breaking. "even if it kills me to do it." He sighed, low and soft. "That's why I want to leave, Hermissa. This—this is the world you deserve. Safe, and untainted. But I'm not that way. I'm going to follow Vergil into the darkness. And it's dangerous there, filled with _things _you couldn't imagine…" He looked at her with a sad smile. "I want you to promise me one thing."

"Yes?" Hermissa had never heard Dante sound so serious before.

"Forget about me. I…I'm hardly _normal, _Hermissa. I should have realized that from the start. I tried to live a normal life. Middle school, college, university…what does it all matter now? Vergil and me, we used to talk about what we'd be when we grow up. He wanted to be a _doctor. _But it's an impossible dream. We are what we are, and I can't change that. Please, Hermissa. Promise me. Find someone else, get married, have children, be happy. Forget about this poor sod."

"Dante!" Hermissa exclaimed. "How could you ask something like that! I thought you'd thought better of me." Her voice softened, as Dante looked rather bewildered. "I still don't understand, Dante, and maybe I never will. But I suppose you have some good reason for doing all this, and I trust your judgment. Maybe I'll take your advice. Nevertheless, you were my first love, and I'll always remember you. Don't ask me to forget the happy times we were able to share together."

Dante kissed her in reply. It was a long, passionate kiss, and through it he apologized to her, and said goodbye, and a dozen other things that he would never be able to convey in words. Hermissa tasted his tears, warm and salty, as he broke the kiss and buried his face into her hair.

"Christ, I'm pathetic," he said thickly.

"No," Hermissa said. "You're human, like the rest of us. You have a human heart." She didn't notice the change in Dante's expression as he raised his head and gave her a strange look.

"Vergil…he didn't want to be human…" he mumbled.

"What was that?" Hermissa asked, giving him a comfortable smile.

Dante looked at her straight into the eye. "I wish…I wish a lot of things," he said. "And one of them is staying here with you, and forgetting. But like my father, I can't forget and pretend everything's all hunky-dory." He zipped up his suitcase, and gazed around. "I'll miss this place." Even as he said it, he realized that it wasn't true. What he would be missing would be, in reality, all the happiness and innocence associated with this house. A house the Spardas had called home, a house where a bond had been built over years and broken in a single night.

Hermissa stood up and pushed a pathway through the debris strewn on the floor with one foot. "What're you going to do with all this stuff?" she asked, wrinkling her nose as her shoe encountered something particularly disgusting.

"Throw it away," Dante said indifferently. "I don't care about any of it, anymore. Jeremy will take care of the real estate stuff for me. I just want to get out of the country as fast as I can."

"Will you…" Hermissa hesitated, "Will you let me visit you someday?"

"I don't think that'll be a good idea." Dante said, hefting his meager luggage with one hand. He'd taken a few clothes, some books he really liked, money, a laptop, and of course Rebellion. All else he'd left behind. His textbooks, notes, posters of rock stars and teams, they all belonged to a previous life he had no intention in returning to. When he saw the hurt on the girl's face, however, he relented somewhat. "One day, Hermissa. When I'm ready. When I've done what I left here for. I'll write to you."

And Hermissa had to be content with that.

They took a taxi to the airport. It was a quiet sendoff, with only Hermissa and her parents present. Dante had not told his other friends of his departure, and they would probably only find out from Hermissa when he was far away.

Hermissa's mom fussed over him, and her dad gruffly patted his shoulder when the time for his flight neared. He waved as he walked through the glass doors of the terminal. Hermissa waved back, her face shining with tears. He had a bit of trouble explaining Rebellion, but at last security let him through after he said that it was a valuable family heirloom, which was pretty much true.

The plane took off at three. As the airport receded in the distance, Dante faced front, determined not to look back again. The plane flew serenely on, bringing him nearer and nearer towards his new life. Dante smiled for the first time since last night, as he took the first step in rebuilding his shattered life.

It was time to pick up the pieces, and make a new future.

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He would never have been caught dead in a place like this.

Which was exactly the reason why he was here, hunkered in a corner of this seedy little bar of dubious reputation, enduring its sleazy patrons, pounding music and cheap beer. The air stank of stale cigarette smoke, vomit and sex. On the dance floor wanna-be punks with Mohawk cuts grinded with skinheads, chicks in tight leather pants wiggled their butts to the beat, along with several other disreputable persons who looked as though they belonged behind bars. Drugs, murder, prostitution—it was all just another night in the all-so-aptly named Ninth Level.

Vergil scowled threateningly at an approaching female who was practically bursting out of her skimpy top and miniskirt, as he had scowled at any other intruders in his personal space the whole night. She got the message and disappeared to find some other more willing customer. Vergil wished he was anywhere else, but likely his pest of a brother had already notified the police. He'd be a walking target if he so much as stuck a toe into his usual haunts. He took a sip of his drink, gagged and spat it out again. He'd bought it only because he would have been thrown out if he wasn't a paying customer. Ordinarily Vergil wouldn't have cared, let alone step inside, but he didn't want to draw attention to himself while he figured out his plan of action.

Books, he told himself. He needed books, to find out how, exactly, his father had sealed the gates of hell—and how to unseal them again. Lost in thought, he didn't register the man sitting down next to him until he had made himself comfortable. Vergil glared and turned away, not fancying any conversation.

"Vergil Sparda, I presume?" his neighbor murmured in a low voice. Almost instantly, Vergil's head whipped around and he stared at the other man suspiciously. He couldn't help noticing that the man was unusually tall, even taller than him, with a clean shaven head. There was something odd about his eyes…

"Who wants to know?" Vergil asked coolly, his hand already closing around Yamato's hilt, and his body tensed for action.

The man chuckled. "Peace, friend. News travels fast in the Underworld. Now, am I right in thinking that we have the same goals?"

"And what would they be?" Vergil shot back, purposely not giving any definite answer. Nevertheless, he was interested. He was getting major vibes off this seemingly fragile human…vibes that were decidedly demonic in nature.

"I am an expert in demonology," the man said. "For years I have known of the existence of demons among us. I became dissatisfied with my life…my weaknesses." His hand clenched. "I spurned humanity. I sought to become a demon. But for that to happen…" The man turned his eyes on Vergil, and for the first time he noticed that they were mismatched; one blue, one red, both glowing with eerie luminance in the dim lighting. "The gate to hell must open."

"Why should I trust you?" Vergil asked flatly, after a moment of silence. The man smirked a bit in reply. "For now, it should be enough that you need me to help you _find _the seal, and I need you to open it. But this is not a suitable place to talk."

"I'm a felon. I've got little choices," Vergil said brusquely. The man smiled in triumph. "So, you agree that we should work together?"

"I haven't agreed to anything yet." Yamato was now out of its sheath and pressing against the man's midsection. "We will talk," Vergil said. "And for now, that is all that I will promise. Should you attempt to double-cross me…"

There was hatred, but also respect, in the man's eyes as he nodded; the respect that creatures of the Underworld offer their fellows when they recognize the darkness within one another. Vergil sheathed the tachi sword again in a fluid move. "So that we understand each other."

"Oh, I do." The man smirked. "By the way, my name is Arkham."

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"What do you mean, I need my brother?" Vergil sat back and glared angrily at Arkham. He'd hoped that he would never have to lay eyes on that spineless human-lover again. However, Arkham was nodding, reinforcing what he had just said.

"Surely one son of Sparda is enough!" Vergil said bitterly. He was aware that he sounded childish and jealous of his brother, and the fact just made him angrier than ever.

"Sparda intended to pass the key to hell to his eldest son, I surmise." Arkham said in his annoyingly oh-I-am-so-superior voice. "But instead, his wife gave birth to twins…so he solved the problem by dividing the key between you. You have half of the key, and Dante will not give up his without a fight. To him, as to you, it is the last gift from the mother you both loved so much…"

Vergil gritted his teeth at the mockery in Arkham's tone, but forced himself to hold his temper in check. He could always kill Arkham…._after _Temen-ni-gru was raised, and the gate to the demon world open.

"I imagine that my presence would be a strong enough bait," he said coldly. "No doubt he will feel that it is his duty to rid the world of my menace or some other such nonsense."

"My thoughts exactly." Arkham smiled at his 'partner' nastily.

"It'll be a family reunion you'll _never _forget."

Vergil wanted to grab the book in Arkham's hands and throw it into his face. Instead, he clutched the amulet that hung hidden beneath his long coat. It pulsed in his hand like a living heart. Beating to the same rhythm that the amulet probably hanging around Dante's neck was.

"Don't miss me too much, Dante," Vergil whispered to his absent brother.

"We'll see each other again soon enough."

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Author's Ending Note: 10/11/05: Pretty lousy ending, I know, but I couldn't think of any other thing to add. And I suspect Dante was too mushy in the first part of this chapter. Strangely enough, two nights ago I had a dream that my own mother was dead. She isn't, thank God. I used the feelings I felt in my dream in this chapter when Dante was looking through the album. It was a horrible feeling, and I don't think I did it enough justice. It's impossible to. I did my best, though.

Anyway, this is the last chapter. Yeah. But before you groan in disbelief at the totally pathetic ending, it's not over yet! One more epilogue to go before I close the curtains on a wonderful piece of work that I had a lot of fun writing. Thanks to all you guys for your support.

T. Axile.

COMING SOON: EPILOGUE—A CRAZY PARTY

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	8. Epilogue: A Crazy Party

Brother Never Cry

Summary: My take on how Vergil becomes bad, Dante becomes responsible, how the events of DMC3 transpired. Ignores DMC1 completely due to ignorance of the game.

Disclaimer: Capcom owns everything I'm writing about except the plot, the weird wax demons and assorted OCs.

A Word From the Author: 30/11/05: Sheesh, it really sucks that review responses have been banned. I'll just have to respond individually to you guys via PM (if you're registered members, so please sign in before reviewing). Anyway, thanks to Sutremaine for such a thoughtful review, and yes, you guessed right! Cookies to all reviewers.

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Epilogue: A Crazy Party

3rd March 2000.

The phone rang.

The sounds of water splashing ceased, as did a slightly off-key voice singing. The door at the corner of the somewhat dingy-looking room opened to admit a tall, white-haired man, his gloved fingers raking through his damp hair. He gave the ringing phone a cursory look of curiosity as he sank into his chair, slamming his boots onto the tabletop as he did so, and in an act that totally defied the laws of physics, the receiver flew through the air in a graceful arc towards his waiting hand.

"Sorry, not open for business yet," he drawled into the mouthpiece. Without waiting for a reply, he replaced the receiver and leaned back into a comfortable position. Seemingly to himself, he mused, "I haven't even picked a name for this joint, and already I'm getting calls."

He sighed and sank a little more into the depths of his chair as events of the previous, eventful, year floated to the surface of his mind, as they always did whenever he was alone and his mind unoccupied. Dante did not want to think about it. He had come here to escape, not to remember his less than cheery life.

He had, after all, left his home to kill his brother.

Dante sighed and shifted in his chair, burying the memories back into his brain with a violent shake of his head. It was bad enough that Vergil had done what he had, but did he have to keep haunting his mind too, in daylight and darkness? Sometimes, in his dreams, Dante saw his wayward brother. There was a sense of…_depth, _of the weight of the earth heavy on his head, the constant _drip-drip _of water, the scent of iron and earth strong in his nostrils, a vague feeling of time passing. Then he would wake up, leaving the tantalizing images of the dream to fade to a distant, unreachable portion to his mind. No matter how close he came to grasping, it always flitted away, swift and elusive and always brushing the tips of his memory.

Frankly, it was downright frustrating. Connected by the ruins of their bond, Dante knew that Vergil was up to something. But _what, _he couldn't figure out what, and it was driving him crazy. He sighed again in annoyance and reached for a pizza slice.

The door opened, and the rays of the dying sun threw a long shadow into his office. Dante sensed the change, as a bird will sense the subtle transition of summer into autumn, and flee from the bitter cold it knows, without knowing how, that is on its way. It was then, unconsciously, as the tall, bald man entered his apartment, Dante knew that _something _had happened. Something big.

_Change. _He could practically smell it in the air.

"Hey, you need to unload, the toilet's right over there," Dante said calmly enough into the man's rather forbidding expression. As he jerked a thumb, he gave the guy a once-over. Unusually tall, mismatched eyes of red and blue, pole up his ass. Dante was suddenly, uncomfortably aware of the heavy gold amulet resting on his bare chest as the man's eyes lingered on the necklace a moment too long. Prickles of anticipation ran down his spine, and he tensed.

"Is your name Dante? Son of Sparda?" the man asked, a slightly mocking edge to his deep voice. Dante saw the corner of the thin lips curl in a brief sneer, and anger, and shock, made his heart thud. _Sparda. _It was a name he'd not heard for a long time, and it was like being doused in a bucket of ice-cold water—all the unpleasant reminders of his father's legacy, clamoring to be heard. Regaining his composure, the self-styled devil hunter said coldly, "Where did you hear that?" He was unable to keep emotion from his tone, and Bald 'N' Ugly knew it. He produced another mocking smile.

"From your brother," he said, a hint of malice in his tone. "He sent this invitation to you. Please accept it."

Before Dante quite knew what was happening, the man moved. So fast, Dante was only aware that he _had _moved when he found himself and his desk flying through the air. Reflex kicked in, and he landed in a watchful crouch, poised on the edge of the desk and Ivory in his hand. His eyes slid around the room.

Empty.

Dante remained still for a few more seconds until he was convinced that nothing was going to leap out and attack him. Smiling a little bitterly, he lowered the gun. "Invitation, huh." Always the diplomatic one, Vergil.

Vergil…

Dante stopped himself before he could sink into a self-made abyss of mush and angst, instead turning his attention to the battered, but whole, pizza bix he had snatched out of the air without even looking. His stomach chose that moment to whine pleadingly as the aroma of cheese wafted upwards. Shrugging, he removed a slice and lowered it into his mouth…

_Pain!_ Dante forced a grimace off his face as sharp, stabbing pinpricks of agony suddenly invaded his senses, each screaming to be heard. The pizza slice fell from nerveless fingers as he glanced down to see rusty scythes protruding from his stomach and abdomen. _Hey, no fair, _he wanted to complain, but if there was one thing he had learnt fighting those wax demons one year ago and various and sundry other minor creatures since, it was that demons and/or devils did _not _fight fair.

Instead, he smiled wolfishly at the unseen demons, his lips pulling away from his teeth in a way more feral snarl than grin. Bracing himself for the pain that was sure to follow, he seized one of the black-cloaked demons and tossed it casually into the opposite wall, the damned creature wailing as it smashed into the wall and exited via the other side in an impromptu trip. Dante whirled and the unfortunate demons, too stupid to let go of their weapons, blades still embedded in Dante's back, were dragged along with him, clinging stubbornly on with otherworldly shrieks—cries that were abruptly stifled as Dante grabbed Ebony and emptied his clips into the remaining two demons at his back. His lips compressed as his fingers closed around the shattered sickles sticking out of his chest and yanked them out, accompanied by a shower of blood. Dante watched with satisfaction as the wound began to seal quickly. In seconds all that was left was a faint white scar—there were lot of them—and a stubborn dribble of blood.

Not that Dante was looking anymore. Aware that he was still far from safe, he set his feet, and sent the bent sickle whirling like a boomerang towards the ceiling. His aim was perfect. The ceiling fan, freed of its constraints, wavered uncertainly before falling down into an approaching demon with a resounding crash and reducing it into a pile of sand with a whooshing sound. _At least, _Dante mused as he whirled Ebony and Ivory briefly in his hands, _they don't leave behind too _huge _a mess. _

Red portals that materialized out of thin air and more wacky shrieks heralded the arrival of _another _host of demons that all looked like they wanted to be the Grim Reaper when they grew up. In a wave, they rushed upon him. Dante lifted his hand and Rebellion shot obediently into it. The demons were undaunted. Dante wondered briefly if they were brave or just plain dumb as he cleared out the first line with one swing. More sand lay scattered across his recently vacuumed floor, he noted with annoyance as he ducked beneath a demon's wild swipe and impaled it. _Or cannon fodder. Verge can be pretty scary when he wants; I should know. Probably bullied 'em into doing the job. _It was a little worrying, Dante thought in concern as he pulled off a perfect roundhouse kick that sent one demon klunking its skull into the side of his desk, causing it to collapse with a loud groan. These nutters were all low-level, Vergil must have known that he could wade through these guys, no matter how many, any time of the week with one hand tied behind his back. From what Baldy had said, Dante could only guess that this was a threat. An opportunity for Vergil to gloat, _See what I have accomplished. I have _flunkies _now! Bwahahahaha!_

Dante quickly found that thinking was a dangerous thing to do in battle as a scythe clipped his ribs; he'd only jumped back just in time. So he set aside his contemplations for the moment to fully engage in battle. Another one bit the dust—literally—as Ivory greeted it with several vicious bullets specially dipped in holy water. Dante had spent a long time doing that with a jar and a pair of tongs, since he couldn't touch the stuff himself, but he had to say that it had been worth it when he saw how easily the demons were going down beneath the barrage. A smirk curled his lips as adrenaline pounded through his system.

Several demons looked nervously at each other and slowly began to edge away. When they'd first popped up, their first thought had been, _Only human. How hard could it be?_

Famous last words.

Dante spotted the shirkers and yelled over the commotion of demon screaming, "Where d'you think you're going? This party's just getting crazy! Let's rock!" More bullets blazed out from E&I and reduced the attacking demons to dust. Shoving one aside, Dante peered at his trusty jukebox, pondering for a moment before jabbing at a button. The machine let out a sound like a dying cow and shuddered. The white-haired devil hunter snorted. _Piece of junk. _One boot lashed forward, causing the front of the jukebox to cave in. Fingers of electricity danced among the wreckage as the ancient machine coughed to life with a burst of static and crackly music. Dante smiled in satisfaction as he stepped back and continued pounding the life out of the monsters.

In seconds they had either fled through the door (ripping the door off its hinges in the process) or were lying in piles of sand around the room. Dante examined the mess glumly. His pool table was cleaved into half (one of the demons had the bright idea of cowering beneath), his jukebox was smashed in, his drum set had been scattered in miscellaneous pieces on the floor, and gashes from his sword and the demons' scythes decorated the ceiling. All in all, it wasn't exactly the most soothing ambience around.

"The end? Don't bet on it," he muttered to himself. Vergil likely had more stuff planned for him. He wasn't the kind to do things by halves, his brother. He glanced around again and was surprised to see the pizza box lying, miraculously unscathed, by his feet. He stared at it for a few moments, then shrugged and reached for it.

A clawed foot appeared out pf nowhere and slammed down, sending cheese and tomato spurting out of the sides of the box. Dante growled and fired, point-blank, into its leering face, and bits of demon flew in all directions as its visage burst apart like rotten fruit before disintegrating into dust. Dante sneered and spun the gun around one finger.

"…Idiot."

With a whining sound, part of the roof promptly caved in and shattered on the sand-strewn floor. Dante grimaced and grabbed his red coat off the rack. _Oh, you're so going to pay for wrecking my new place, Verge, _he thought darkly. Draping the material over his shoulder, he stalked out into the last rays of the setting sun.

_Here I come, brother._

_It's showtime._

END BROTHER NEVER CRY BEGIN DEVIL MAY CRY 3: DANTE' S AWAKENING 

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1/12/05: It's over. My story of nearly five months is over.

Its also my first serious DMC fic, and I'm really glad how it turned out the way it had, though rereading it, I found loads of places where it could have been improved. I had a lot of fun writing this story and reading your reviews. Thanks to you reviewers for all your support. Your positive comments and honest criticism helped me write this story and I really bow down to you guys.

I'll contact everyone by PM soon. Not today; I've still got loads to do. But I'd never overlook the effort you took to review. Kudos to everyone who stuck with story from the beginning to the end.

I'll be taking a break from DMC for a while; I've got two other uncompleted stories that need to be finished, and next year will be the busiest I've ever faced. But I promise that I'll be back sometime next year.

Once again, thank you so much.

Travithian Axile.

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